Six
by rapunzelwithascalpel
Summary: He outruns his humanity. Bill holds him as he gives birth to himself. [Sequel to Holy Night]


_Oh oh oh oh oh._

His vision sharpens, blurs, sharpens and leaves him. Last thing to visit his sight is Bill's half-lidded eye. Its pupil thick.

Sweat drips down his skin like leftover rain, he's drenched and it's only just begun. He prays he doesn't drown himself before this thing is over. Human bodies were pathetic like that.

"It's gonna hurt, Stanford. Like, a lot. But don't worry, you'll start to enjoy the pain soon enough."

He says nothing. Ready.

His left arm is the first to go. It disintegrates, atom by atom. He _feels_ it disassemble itself, thankful he can't bear witness to the sight.(a little disappointed too, what a sight it must be)  
He grits his teeth, bites the inside of his cheek, chews raw through tongue, not wanting to scream and humiliate himself. He'd chosen this, and displays of human weakness might make Bill think he wasn't worthy and prematurely stop the process. He's come too far to turn back now.

It falls to pieces, the crumbs calling on one another together, whispering to each other about the new form they're meant to take.

Bill directs them, they reform.

His right arm goes next, the pain familiar and now slightly more bearable. There's a reassuring hand in his hair and giggling in his ear.

"I'm gonna do your torso in one go, okay? Here we go!"

Fingers enter his mouth, and at Bill's request, he feels his upper body tear itself open. Layer by layer peels off; Stanford Pines bared fully before Bill Cipher and he wonders what Bill thinks of his rapidly beating heart.

No word in the English language can describe the pain. He doesn't even try. It numbs him quickly. He only thinks… _Don't rush, Bill. Don't rush…_

He burns hot now, his organs searing, welding into a clusterfuck mass of pulsating flesh. Bill snaps his fingers, making it malleable, shapes it to his liking.

(He knows Bill snapped his fingers because more than having heard it, he _felt_ it, the vibration in the air.) Bill's actions were visible to him now on a different plane, courtesy of his new _sixth_ sense.

Ripples of knowledge travel towards him, reaching their new master- letting him connect to the _gospel truth_. His intuition has never been so loud.

He wants to feel his new body but not yet.

"Legs next. These will be a breeze."

The right goes first.

His heart isn't beating out of control anymore. You needed to have a heart for it to misbehave.

He wonders what's inside his chest now, wonders if he can dissect himself without dying. Wonders what he is now, who he is now.

The left goes next, the pain lovely. He was giving birth to himself, and Bill was delivering the new him.

"Oooh boy, I gotta do the groin area. Just brace yourself, this'll flash by."

Cold this time. Freezing. The area shatters into shards of frozen meat and he wonders why does this part freeze and break? There's no pain – was Bill attempting to be gentle?

The cold shards melt into Ford soup. He sees, in his mind, Bill sitting at a cauldron filled with his melted skin, stirring with a recipe book titled 'ideal Stanford Pines'. His laughing, in his mind, and it's better than crying over pain. Or attempting to cry. (but he's being born, he should be crying as he comes into this world, shouldn't he?)

His intimate area comes to formation and it's no longer intimate, just an ordinary part of him. Bill makes a strange noise, and he feels something happening.

"I'm gonna give you six of them, because why the hell not? Let's get weird with it, Stanford!"

Six of what…? He wonders and wonders as Bill, unknown to Ford, builds six individual penises – varying in length, width, and colour. They barely resemble human sexual organs, only the phallic shape is familiar. (Bill adds soft spikes to one of them, the kind that stimulates in all the right places and thinks he might wanna try Stanford out a little later)

On the bright side, he's not sweating anymore. You needed sweat glands with a working layer of dermis below the epidermis. Obsolete words. Words meant to describe human bodies.

 _What_ is he now? _What is he now?_

"Now time for the face. Wanted to leave this for last. Don't worry Ford, I'm gonna let you get to alternate between your new one and old one, just because you're pretty cute for a human."

Scalding hands take his face, and it melts. The burning is deep, _six_ layers deep. Everything slides off: his nose, lips, cheekbones- burns right through the delicate bone, burns through thick bone all the same, too. He can feel the insides of his throat sizzling and bubbling, caving in on itself. His lips, oh his lips…he hears Bill say 'you have such pretty lips, let's make them prettier', boil and slosh off. Like everything else, but that sticks out. A compliment from Bill. It rings in his head a few times- the bell they ring when a life leaves this world. The bell they ring when a new life comes into this world.

Screaming doesn't happen, mush can't scream. Maybe he wants to scream, maybe it's erotic to scream. Maybe this entire ordeal was far more intimate than Ford realizes.

Bills hands begin to work on his face, moulding as one would clay. He can begin to hear the demon humming as his ears come into existence.

"Six…six of everything!" His new hands wrap themselves around Bill's hands at the wrist. The sensation utterly bizarre, he feels too much at once. Whatever Bill was made of, he could feel it, sense it, right down to its periodic elements.

Of course…Bill was in their dimension now. His body would form from the available elements in this realm.

He knows all of Bill now, through touch alone.

He's never felt closer to Bill, his maker.

"All done, baby! Get a load of you, Stanford!" Bill declares, and Ford **_hears_** him. Hears every emotion, every hidden meaning, every edge and every turn- everything in Bill's voice, he hears. He hears all of Bill.

He sees everything now. Hears everything. Touches without touching– is this what it meant to transcend humanity?

"Your new body's a little flashy but you'll get used to it… Happy Birthday, Sixer!"

He staggers to the mirror.


End file.
